Crush, Crush

The last few days of tour had been rather uneventful, really. There had been an ever-growing feeling in the bus of a longing to get home. Now that I was, things felt so suddenly dull. I threw myself back into work, partly as I needed something to do but mostly because my bank account had been emptied due to my time off. All the overtime I'd worked had been for the tour, in the end, which I didn't really mind. A new TV would have to wait. It's not like there was ever much on, anyway, when I finally got the chance to sit down to watch it.

Gerard had been around exactly twice since the tour had ended. The first time, he'd been dropping me back off home. He ended up staying a little longer as he talked about what he wanted to do next, and where he wanted to go. The conversation had been rather vague and quite short. For a man with more dreams than common sense most of the time, it had me a little worried. It was almost as if he was done. He'd completed all he'd ever set out to do. I reminded him that he hadn't written a comic yet, recalling all the time he used to spend drawing up elaborate story boards and creating characters that never saw the light of day. I figured he was still doing this in that sketch pad of his on tour. I hadn't dared to snoop.

The second time, Gerard seemed much more himself. He was showing me pages and pages of character sketches and describing their pasts to me in great detail. I was never really into comic books, but I was on board.

"I want to write a comic book," he'd said, which came as no surprise. He'd always wanted that. I was glad to have been the one to remind him of an old dream of his. His next sentence, however, left me unsettled.

"I want to quit the band."

He knew full well that there was no quitting My Chemical Romance. Not for him. His leaving would break the band. I wanted to question his reasoning behind it. I wanted to make sure it hadn't been me that had provoked such a thought; that the idea had come from his own mind.

Again, he left what felt like too soon. I wanted to ask him to stay a while, but I didn't. I wanted to kiss him goodbye, but I didn't. Something told me as we stood awkwardly at my front door that he'd wanted similar things. I wondered if he was still troubled by how close we'd become, if only for a moment. I took comfort in that he couldn't take that moment away from me.

---

It was getting darker earlier now as we passed the summer solstice, heading for the much undesired colder months. I had to remind myself that I was no longer in Minnesota. It wasn't all that bad down here. And yet, I could still sense I'd have a hard time pulling myself up out of bed on a chilly morning to haul my ass to work.

It was Sunday and so I found myself sat on my mother's grave talking to my parents about my week, and I imagined boring them with details of how things had been with Gerard. Oh, they'd heard everything at this point. I kept no secrets from the dead.

I wasn't too surprised when I saw that Gerard was waiting for me in his car as I arrived home. He stepped out onto the path a little after I had and followed me inside without a formal invitation. I watched him closely and with a quizzical brow as he collapsed onto my couch, his eyes showing the kind of Saturday night he'd had.

"Clarissa told me you don't drink anymore." Gerard merely shrugged it off, like it was nothing for him to be sat on my couch so obviously hungover. "Did something happen?"

"We're recording a few more songs," he began. "It was my idea. I haven't told them why yet but I think Frank knows."

"I thought you liked recording music..."

"I want to quit the band." There were those words again, clear as day. He seemed more sure saying it this time than the last. "I just can't do it anymore. I can't be the role model they need. I can't deal with the attention I get. I need a break. It needs to stop."

I watched as Gerard began shaking towards the end of his sentence, taking a seat beside him to rest my hand on his shoulder.

"Do what you gotta do, I say."

"I'll be letting everyone down. I don't know if I can do that. Everyone still thinks the world of this band except me." He was crying now, silent tears streaking his face, his hair getting caught up in the mess. I wasn't sure what else I could say that might ease his mind and so I said nothing as he sat there crying, and took to stroking his hair from his face. He'd let it grow out significantly since Clarissa and Mikey's wedding so many months ago and I was liking it this way, save for how it hid his face. I had a feeling, however, that that was the appeal.

Gerard stayed a little longer that night. I didn't have to ask. I was ready to grab some spare pillows and blankets for him to use on the couch but lost my way as he followed behind me, shadowing me to the linen cupboard, his lips so close I could feel his breath down my neck.

"I could sleep with you tonight," he suggested, his voice careful yet confident. "I could use the company..." My hands left the cupboard handles after a moment and I continued down the hallway to the last door, pushing it open for Gerard. He took a seat on the end of my bed as I tidied up a little and by the time I was done a moment later, he was flat on his back asleep. I figured he hadn't had a lot of sleep the previous night, still worried that he was drinking again. I turned out the light and crawled beneath the covers beside him, figuring that he'd wake up and sort himself out in the night.

At some point in the early hours of the morning, I felt an arm pull me in close, and a pair of lips whispering into my neck, "Thank you."